So,
for example,
if you wanted
to find
a nature-theme
bildungsroman
in 18th century
America
you would find
several books that
fit
that
bill.
(Source: The New York Times)
Bushwick kids
barfing
pink, or orange,
Wincing out the spoiled sweet.
Mothers call
from the
minivan,
Ignored; we focus on concrete.
Until there’s an answer, and the pursuit of that answer, there’s nothing left to talk about.
This is being reblogged (a practice I try to avoid (in an effort to prevent Tumblr from becoming some incarnation of a perpetual motion machine, powered by the endless reblogging of a small set of photos and quotes (a “perpetual content machine?” (shudder)))) because the title is beyond poetic.
It is a clear, direct, and utterly evocative use of language.
(Source: murmurandshout)
Those were the day when we never slept,
When the hot lights smoked and the actors wept,
We ate like runaways and recorded it all,
It was our endless summer, but now it’s Fall.
The after-party’s over, the floor is sticky no more
Teeny hasn’t been heard from since she walked out the door.
Walt soldiers on, waiting for his big break,
And Chris has realized Grad School’s a mistake.
Chacha’s business is still there, and he gets by,
Continues to get his lunch brought by the Delivery Guy.
And Jay’s fucking loaded, having been promoted,
Mansi’s still with him, but, after that big fight Jay had with Diya where Jay was weirdly mean to his sister and Mansi rolled her eyes because she actually agreed with Diya, which was unusual, but for once saw the routine and actually pretty boring life Jay leads, she’s less devoted.
Jules still relies on the checks from her Daddy,
Spends her time writing more shows and teasing Paddy,
He, meanwhile, has changed completely,
He’s pursing an MBA, albeit discreetly.
Sophia muscles through life, surrounded and alone,
Deftly managing her sham marriage by phone,
And Diya, our heroine, the most important character there was,
Well, I don’t know what happened to her, but I’m sure Bornila does.
And what of us?
Us craftsmen, us workers, us creators of unworlds?
Us mothers and fathers of folks we never
Or will ever
Know?
We stand, and we celebrate
The intangible, the information, the cult of emotion.
This is what it looks like,
This is the future coming into being
Collide your drinks of atoms and essence together
And announce light where the once was none.
An axial shift has the sun setting on Rodeo
And rising on the Hudson.
Let us drink our champagne and watch a warehouse morning and litter the streets with our cast off thoughts.
Let us pluck them, let us farm them, let us let them be a call to action, to arms, to the dove relatives circling above, cast high on the updrafts of our collective voices.
I do not need to say what this means.
You know more that you know more than words about it already.
You know.
Those will be days when we never sleep
The hot lights will smoke and the actors will weep,
We will eat like runaways and record it all,
It will be a new summer, and never turn Fall.
A moment of standing on the misty empty orange street as the director contemplates a final shot. (9/10)
